


Holiday in Paris

by AVegetarianCannibal



Series: Slice of Life [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bookstores, Cannibalism, Face-Fucking, France (Country), Jealousy, M/M, Murder Husbands, Paris (City), Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Will and Hannibal have been living together in domestic bliss ever since they recovered from their fall into the Atlantic. They've rescued dogs, washed laundry together, cooked many meals, and even worked on a farm. But when Hannibal makes a new friend while they're on vacation, Will can't entirely forget who and what they are. And maybe he doesn't want to.





	Holiday in Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shukkhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shukkhy/gifts).



> There is fluff and smut, but this installment also contains darker themes and scenes than in previous installments.

**Adios, Argentina**

 

Summer is just beginning in Argentina, and Will still can't quite believe how lucky he is to be somewhere that's 80 °F in December. Sure, it was cold in August, but he hardly noticed it. Maybe it's just his northern hemisphere upbringing, but a warm December feels more a blessing than a cold July feels a curse. To experience the sun on his face and the sweat beading up between his shoulder blades as he jogs and thinks about Christmas plans... it's like some magical version of heaven he's been allowed to visit.

Cephi loves it, too. She mostly runs along beside him, but occasionally darts forward to sniff a rock or investigate the local bird life. She barks at a warbling finch that's a bit too high up in a tree for her little legs to reach, no matter how enthusiastically she jumps, and casts a look back at him as if asking him to get it for her.

Will laughs and gives sharp little whistle. She relieves herself at the base of the tree---one last gesture for the bird's sake---and then returns to his side.

By the time they get home, Hannibal has dinner nearly ready. The blessings never seem to end.

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's waist from behind and kisses the nape of his neck. "Mm, smells delicious."

"I do or the meal does?" Hannibal asks.

"Both," Will says, planting another kiss.

"Go get cleaned up," Hannibal says, wriggling away from Will's grasp. "You're dripping with sweat."

"I thought you liked me sweaty," Will teases.

Hannibal swats him with a handy tea towel. "Only when I'm the cause of it. Go. The jambalaya will be ready when you're done."

Will's stomach grumbles at the idea. "Jesus, that sounds good! How do you always know exactly what I'm hungry for?"

"Because I know you," Hannibal says.

"Yes, you do," Will agrees, and sneaks one more kiss before dashing up the stairs.

* * *

Will savors his first bite of the jambalaya, chewing slowly and experiencing every note of spice as it passes over his taste buds. Hannibal's version has shrimp and andouille that have been lightly seared on the grill, and tomatoes that somehow still burst with fresh sweetness even after cooking. The sausage is perfectly fatty, the shrimp like buttery little bites of the ocean. Running through it all is a note of smoked cayenne pepper, just hot enough to tingle. Will makes a sound of appreciation that would seem obscene out of context.

Hannibal, of course, is pleased. He's always pleased when Will likes his cooking.

"My neighbor in New Orleans made this for me," Will says before he takes another bite. He has to resist the urge to shovel it into his mouth. "Not nearly as good as this one, but it was still my favorite meal in the winter."

"I remember you mentioning it once," Hannibal says. "I thought it might be an effective way of instilling a craving for colder weather."

Will snorts. "Nothing could do that. I am _done_ with cold weather."

Hannibal fidgets. He looks slightly guilty, which he almost never does.

Will feels a frisson of dread. "What did you do? What are you _thinking_ of doing?"

"I thought we could spend Christmas in the north," Hannibal says.

The frisson becomes a shudder. "Where?"

"Paris," Hannibal says.

Will is so distressed he almost stops eating. Almost. "It's gotta be freezing there by now!"

Hannibal whips out his phone and shows him the weather forecast, already waiting for review. "The high was 43 °F today. Hardly freezing. See?"

"We can go in the spring," Will says. " _Their_ spring."

Hannibal touches his phone, opening another site. "But look---I've found an apartment that looks strikingly like my old office in Baltimore."

 

 

Will has to admit the resemblance is uncanny. "It'll still be there in the spring."

Hannibal swipes to another picture with a better view of the windows. "Have I ever told you, Will, that I used to dream of going down on my knees for you as you stood before the windows in my office? Your hands twisted in the drapes, your legs trembling as I took my time tasting you. Since we can't go back to Baltimore, this might be our only chance to act out this fantasy."

The shudder becomes a twinge of interest. In his dick.

Will sighs. "Fine. Fine! I guess we can rent the apartment and have window sex. When do we go?"

Hannibal beams as brightly as Will has ever seen. "Tomorrow. I've already made all the arrangements."

 

 

**Bonjour, Paris**

 

Hannibal's "arrangements" apparently included sneakily obtaining new passports for all three of them at some point in the last few weeks without Will even noticing. This means an EU pet passport for Cephi that claims she's a regular visitor to Europe with full approval from a French veterinarian who may or may not exist.

For some reason, Will feels far guiltier about Cephi's fake passport than he does his own, even though Hannibal has made sure she's met all the medical requirements on an unofficial level. She's an unwitting little criminal, but at least she won't be passing on any infections to a French poodle.

All their flights are blessedly uneventful, and bordering on pleasant---or at least as pleasant as commercial flying can be. Hannibal doesn't complain in the slightest about the dry roast beef sandwich they get on their longest flight and barely wrinkles his nose at being offered a can of cola.

The weather at Orly as they wait for their cab isn't as cold as Will was dreading, but it's a damned sight colder than it is back home. He burrows into his scarf and pokes through his small suitcase for Cephi's sweater.

As he's getting her dressed, a man approaches them. He addresses Hannibal, saying something that sounds like, "Kerry Tismatta."

Hannibal says something back that sounds... similar, but not exactly the same.

With Cephi dressed for the elements, Will turns his attention to the stranger and sees that he's a young man, early to mid-twenties, tall and wiry with a thick mop of wavy blond hair and ruddy cheeks.

"You were on our flight," Will says.

"Oh, you're Americans," the young man says, in a Midwest American accent himself. "Or... Canadians? Sorry, I just saw you reading on the flight and the text was Greek. Thus: _Chairetísmata_."

"You're quite observant," Hannibal says with a placid smile.

Will tries not to visibly shake his head in pity. The guy is doomed now. No way is Hannibal going to risk letting such an "observant" person live after seeing them and apparently studying them for an entire flight.

"Robert Goodnight," the young man says, sticking out his hand for a shake. "Friends and friendly strangers call me Robbie."

"Please to meet you, Robbie," Hannibal says. "I'm Jonas, this is my business associate Victor, and his dog Sylvie."

Will bristles slightly even though they agreed before leaving Argentina that they would travel under this precise ruse. He still doesn't like being thought of as Hannibal's pal from work. He has to bite his tongue to keep from shouting that they're practically married.

Hannibal invites the young man to share a cab with them, which Will assumes is both an easy _and_ practical way to find out where he's staying and where he'll be meeting his doom.

But to his surprise, Robbie is allowed to go free in front of a bookshop in a Bohemian little neighborhood near Notre-Dame.

Hannibal rolls down the window and hands him the book he read on their flight. "A parting gift."

Robbie's mouth drops open. "No way! Wow! I don't know if my Greek's good enough to read a whole novel, but I shall endeavor to do my best."

"I'm certain you will," Hannibal says.

Will asks the driver to continue on, but Robbie sticks his hand back through the window to shake with Hannibal one last time.

"Come back tomorrow," Robbie says. He nods back toward the bookshop. "I'm working here and I'll find you something you really like. To say thanks."

"We're busy," Will says before Hannibal can reply. "With business stuff."

Hannibal wordlessly raises an eyebrow at him.

"Then the next day," Robbie says. "Or whenever! I'm here most of the time."

"If our schedule permits," Hannibal finally allows.

Robbie smiles like it's already Christmas morning.

* * *

Their apartment on Rue Du Marché Saint-Honoré is in an excellent location, with Metro stops nearby and all the gardens and museums and fancy little music clubs Hannibal could ever want.

It also looks a bit different that Will saw in the Hannibal's pictures.

"Is this more spacious or am I imagining it?" Will asks, setting down Cephi and their bags as soon as they're inside. She trots off to explore the new digs.

"I hired movers to put the excess furniture in storage," Hannibal says. "The landlord has been using the flat as something of a storage unit himself, stashing away cheap, bulky pieces he had no use for but with which he couldn't seem to part."

Will laughs. "We're only here for a month. You couldn't put up with a spare futon or two lying around?" Will glances around the living room. "Did you buy new rugs, too?"

"Rented," Hannibal says. "I think you'll be pleased with my rearrangements in the study."

Will follows him into the room, which is the much-anticipated older cousin to Hannibal's old office.

"Wow," Will says. He lets out an impressed whistle. The ceiling is not quite as high as the one in the old office, but close. It's a smaller space, so the resulting proportions are almost spot on. Even the way his voice sounds in the room hearkens back to that place.

"What do you notice?" Hannibal asks.

Will takes a stroll through the room, touching the furniture and decorations. There's less furniture here, too, than the online photos had shown. A few things have been added in their place, like the bonsai tree between the windows and the lounge, not to mention the---

"If I didn't know better, I'd think this was the exact rug from your office," Will says.

"I want to make love to you on it," Hannibal says.

Will's mouth drops open. "Hannibal, you did _not_ track down your actual rug. And we are _not_ leaving our DNA behind on anything!"

"It's a remarkably similar pattern made by the same family," Hannibal says. "If you knew how often I'd fantasized about taking you in my office---or being taken _by_ you in my office---you'd realize there's no detail I would spare."

Despite traveling for the better part of two days and feeling like he could sleep for nearly as long, Will feels a rush of blood southward.

"Tell me what else you'd do for me," Will says.

Hannibal takes a seat on the inside ledge of the window and holds out his hand. "Come to me."

Will swings the door shut and walks over to him.

Hannibal takes his hand and kisses each of the knuckles in turn. Then he turns it over to place a kiss on the inside of his palm, inhales deeply at his wrist.

"Tell me," Will says again.

"You already know I would wait years for you," Hannibal says.

"What else?"

Hannibal pushes up his sleeve and kisses the inside of his forearm. "You already know I would kill for you."

"And?"

"I would... never make you sit through another opera if you asked."

Will laughs. "The last opera we went to, _I_ was the one who asked."

"We never got beyond the coat room," Hannibal reminds him. "Which I believe was your entire purpose in inviting me."

"Not that you're complaining," Will says.

"Of course not," Hannibal agrees.

Hannibal lets go of his hand so that he can move on to unbuckling his belt. Will strokes his fingers through Hannibal's hair, nails lightly tracing over his scalp.

"Is this how it went in your fantasies? You undressing me in front of your office window?"

"In some of them, yes." He pushes Will's trousers and underwear down around his thighs. He pushes up Will's sweater and kisses his belly just below the scar. "Sometimes you undressed me. Sometimes we took off our own clothes in front of one another, in unison."

"Mirror images," Will says, gasping as Hannibal's mouth moves over his cock.

Hannibal swallows him down and makes a sound of agreement.

Will leans forward, flattening his palms on the window panes behind Hannibal. The glass is cold against his skin while Hannibal's mouth is so wet and so hot.

"Y-you always know what I want," Will whispers, his voice almost breaking from the sheer pleasure. "From... from dinner... to how I want to be touched and--- _ah!_ "

The head of his cock bumps the back of Hannibal's throat. He feels Hannibal's hands moving up the backs of his thighs to cup his ass. Deft fingers slip between his cheeks and massage his perineum, pressing firmly enough for him to feel it in his prostate. His knees suddenly don't want to hold him up anymore. He leans harder against the window.

In a dizzying blur, Hannibal takes him by the hips and turns him around. The next thing he knows, he's the one sitting on the ledge and Hannibal is kneeling at his feet.

His wet cock grows chill as Hannibal finishes undressing him. When he reaches down to give himself a few strokes, Hannibal takes his wrist and says only, "Patience."

He scoffs with indignation. It hardly seems fair to command his patience when they haven't been skin to skin in nearly two whole days. Hannibal answers his scoff with a gentle _tsk_.

Will whimpers in that urgent little way he knows hits Hannibal just so and adds a quiet, " _Please_."

Hannibal glances up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. He eases off Will's shoes and socks and tugs his trousers the rest of the way off. He motions for Will to hold up his arms, then peels off his sweater and undershirt all at once. They are tossed somewhere across the room in uncharacteristically messy haste.

Will grins triumphantly.

"You always know what I want, as well," Hannibal says. "Up. I want all of Paris to see you."

Will starts to get shakily to his feet again when Hannibal turns him towards the window once more. There's not a building directly across from them, but anybody looking up from the street at this precise moment might be able to see him, erect cock and all.

He allows his hands to be placed against the glass again and moves his feet apart when Hannibal nudges them.

"Arch your back," Hannibal says behind him.

He does as he's told and gets Hannibal's fingers parting his cheeks again. A hot, wet stripe is licked from the top of his crack to the beginning of his scrotum. Hard, sucking kisses retrace the path Hannibal's tongue took. Will pushes back against the sensation, chasing after more contact.

Hannibal pulls back just far enough to say, "Greedy," before diving back in.

Will's not sure if the perfect torture goes on for minutes or hours. His muscles tremble like he's been running hard, and he sweats like it, too. He feels delirious with want. At some point he dropped his forehead against the window and gripped the edge of the drapes in his fists, but he has no idea when. His breath comes hard and fast, fogging up the glass until he can barely see down to the street below.

Somehow, he manages to find his voice for something other then unintelligible whimpering. "You'd... you'd better... get your hand on my dick or I s-swear..."

He hears Hannibal unzipping his own trousers and almost laughs at the fact that he's still been dressed this whole time, but Hannibal is standing up behind him.

"Close your legs tight," Hannibal says, and kisses the side of his neck.

While Hannibal fucks between his clenched thighs, he reaches around to slowly stroke his cock. Will can just see the reflection over his shoulder, see the look of nearly feral desire in Hannibal's eyes as their gazes meet.

He comes in Hannibal's fist, so hard it almost hurts, and Hannibal just keeps pumping him. The sound of his palm sliding up and down semen-slicked flesh is the only thing Will can hear besides his own ragged panting.

A few moments later, he feels the hot slickness of Hannibal's release dripping down his legs. Hannibal smiles, open-mouthed against his shoulder. He can count Hannibal's teeth with his skin.

"Well," Will says when he can speak again. "So much for not leaving DNA on anything."

 

 

**Mardi**

 

The first two days in their flat are amazing. Will hardly minds the winter at all because Hannibal always has the fireplaces going, and they only leave to pop into the market or walk Cephi. She's a big hit with everyone she meets, all big brown hound eyes and tail wagging so fast it's a little blur like a hummingbird wing attached to her hind end. Their elderly neighbor downstairs greets her every time with "bonjour, Sylvie!" or "au revoir, Sylvie!" and she takes to it like she was always meant to be a canine fugitive with an alias.

And then Hannibal suggests an outing. He wants to show Will the Louvre and the Tuileries, which are practically across the street.

"I'll do the Louvre with you," Will says, "but strolling through a garden in the winter?"

"It's beautiful in its own bare way," Hannibal says. Will gives him a doubtful look. "I'll buy you a hot cocoa."

"Babe, we can have hot cocoa inside," Will points out.

"Then I'll warm you up however you please when we return," Hannibal says.

Will grumbles, but ultimately sighs in resignation. "Fine. I want sex and dinner. And we're going to watch a movie---a comedy of my choosing."

"Of course," Hannibal agrees.

"Starring Adam Sandler," Will adds.

Hannibal blanches almost imperceptibly but turns on a bright smile. "Whatever you wish."

* * *

A few tourists loiter around the main pyramid outside the Louvre, but the courtyard looks otherwise abandoned. Their footfalls ring out with an eerie clarity while their voices sound tinny and distant.

"How foolish of me," Hannibal says as he glances at his phone. "It slipped my mind that today is Tuesday."

Will snugs his scarf tighter around his neck as a gust of wind snakes its way across the pavement. "And I'm guessing the museum is closed on Tuesdays? That seems like a weird detail for you to forget."

Hannibal slips an arm around his waist and murmurs into his ear. "You _have_ been keeping me distracted."

Will can't help but feel a spark of pride as he turns against Hannibal for an embrace. "I'll distract you all day long if you take me home right now." He all but bats his lashes.

"Let's have a walk first," Hannibal says. "To build up our... appetites. Think how much more satisfying and _filling_ the meal will be if we delay sating our hunger."

Will rolls his eyes. "You know, sometimes I can't tell if you're making a cannibal pun or an edging one."

Hannibal winks at him. "Why not both?"

* * *

At first Will thinks Hannibal is taking mercy on him by leading them south and east, away from the Tuileries. But then, after a few blocks, he notices they're heading towards Notre-Dame.

"Are we by any chance checking up on that guy who was fawning all over you at the airport?" he asks.

"I thought it wise," Hannibal says. "Don't you?"

Will shrugs. "If he recognized us, don't you think the authorities would be on our tails by now?"

"It won't hurt to check," Hannibal says. "And he was hardly fawning all over me."

Will snorts, but decides against any further comment. There's nothing he can say that doesn't make him sound like a jealous fool. Which he isn't, of course. He knows Hannibal is devoted to him and would never entertain even the faintest notion of hopping into bed with someone else. Right? Right.

All the same, he slips his hand into the crook of Hannibal's elbow as they approach the book shop.

The shop is bursting at the seams with mostly older books, which permeate the air with the distinct odor of faded paper and dry leather. Cots and narrow beds are tucked into practically every corner along with scattered chairs, sofas, and threadbare rugs. If not for the fact that the place is also bursting with shoppers, it would almost look like someone's home library that had gotten really, really out of hand.

"Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise."

Will turns at the sound of someone speaking behind them.

It's Robbie, and he looks up toward the ceiling.

Will follows his line of vision and sees the words of advice painted above a doorway. "Or worse," he says. "Lest they be demons in disguise."

Hannibal disentangles his arm from Will's so that he can shake hands with Robbie, who's beaming at him like an idiot. His eyes are practically _twinkling_. Twinkling!

Will reminds himself he's definitely not jealous and shakes Robbie's hand, as well.

"Do a lot of people live here?" he asks, nodding at one of the beds.

"Several aspiring writers at the moment," Robbie says. "We work here in exchange for a place to stretch out at night. Sometimes we convince a tourist to buy our poems or essays. Paris isn't a cheap place to live."

"Speaking of writing," Hannibal says, "How did you find the Nikos Calas I gave you?"

The wattage in Robbie's smile increases tenfold. "I devoured it!" His cheeks color brightly. "Well, I had to use an app here and there to help me with the Greek, but I wanted to finish it in case you came to the shop and wanted to talk about it."

Hannibal gives him a comforting smile. "The important thing is not how one devours something, but that one enjoys what---or whom---one is devouring."

Robbie laughs like it's the most brilliant thing he's ever heard instead of an average cannibal joke, by Hannibal's usual standards.

"Did you enjoy the pun at the end?" Hannibal asks.

"Blind as a bat," Robbie says. "I can't believe the entire thing was leading to that!"

Will just stares at them both.

Hannibal intervenes to explain. "Calas was a Greek surrealist who wrote in the 1930s. He took a character---the blind poet Demodokos from _The Odyssey_ \---and reimagined him as a bat that's been hallucinating it's a man."

"Blind as a bat," Robbie says again. “Get it?”

"But bats aren't really blind," Will says.

"Well, that's the profundity behind the pun," Robbie says. He looks to Hannibal, uncertain. "Right?"

"Precisely right," Hannibal confirms.

Robbie blushes.

Will reaches his absolute limit of sociability and changes to subject before he can start snapping at people. "Do you have any books about fishing, or what?"

 

 

**Nuit**

 

By the time they get home, the sun has gone down and the snow is falling in ever more ambitious flurries. Cephi has used her puppy pads to relieve herself but still has an abundance of energy. She barks and jumps as high as their waists, flapping her paws as if they could propel her just a little bit higher.

Will rubs her velvety ears before turning his attention on Hannibal. "I want to go for a ride."

Hannibal frowns toward the window. "In the snow?"

"In the bedroom," Will says, pushing Hannibal up against the door. He presses his erection into Hannibal’s hip to make his meaning even clearer. "What do you say?"

Hannibal licks his lips. "I say I'm always up for a ride."

It takes some strength, but Will makes himself step back. "Take Cephi for a good walk. I'll be ready for you by the time you get back."

* * *

With lubed fingers, he spends the next fifteen or so minutes working himself open, making himself relax. He's practical about it, efficient. When Hannibal fingers him, he's all about Will's pleasure---with a little side of torture. There have been times when he takes an hour or more, shushing Will every time he begs him to just get on with it. Of course, Will always gets him back for it. Give and take. Isn't well-deserved revenge how every good relationship survives?

When Hannibal opens the bedroom door, Will hears him give a soft gasp.

"I had some idea of what was waiting for me," Hannibal says, "but somehow, the reality so much more than my imagination."

Will gets up on his knees, making room on the bed for Hannibal. "Take off your clothes. Lie down on your back."

Thank God Hannibal doesn't make a strip tease out of it, just throws off his layers and drops them onto the bench at the foot of the bed. He's already hard, the gleaming pink head of his cock jutting out from its velvety foreskin.

"You're as ready for me as I am for you," Will says.

"As I said, I had some idea of what was waiting for me." He lies down on his back as he was told. He reaches out for Will, then stops himself. "May I?"

"Not until I say," Will says. He swings one leg over Hannibal's hips and straddles his pelvis. "You may grip the sheets if you need something to do with your hands."

He spreads some extra lubricant over Hannibal's cock before raising up to position the head against his hole. Even with the thorough efforts he made fingering himself, Hannibal's size makes it a tight fit. He pushes out with his muscles as he settles himself down inch by inch, until there's nothing more to take.

He remains still for a few moments, getting used to the fullness. He steadies his breathing.

"Don't look anywhere but my eyes," he says, and begins to move.

Hannibal shifts like he's going to reach for Will again before apparently remembering as he's been told. He lowers his hands to his sides. His fingers dig into the sheets. His breaths come smooth and even at first, then ragged with little hitches when Will rolls his hips.

Will slides his hands up his body from thighs to belly to shoulders, giving Hannibal a show he's not entirely allowed to watch.

"Eye contact," Will reminds him.

"Cruel thing," Hannibal says, but he's smiling. "My cruel---" Whatever else he was about to say is lost in a groan of pure pleasure.

Will can feel Hannibal's orgasm building. The fit of their bodies together grows tighter, fuller. The tendons in Hannibal's arms stand out with how fiercely he's twisting his hands in the sheets.

"Look down when you come," he tells Hannibal. "Only then."

Hannibal lets out another groan and looks down.

Will lifts up his own cock and balls and leans back as he continues to move back and forth. His slightly altered position affords Hannibal a perfect view of his cock as his spunk dribbles out of Will's hole.

"Only I do that to you," Will says.

Hannibal nods, transfixed.

"You may touch me now," Will tells him, still moving. The sounds made between them are so sloppy and wet. "I want your hand on me. Get me off--- _rough_."

Hannibal takes Will's cock in hand and strokes with short, brutish pumps of his fingers. He squeezes on every upstroke, thumb bumping against the leaking slit. When Will gives him an encouraging nod---words are gone by now---he tightens his grip.

Will comes in a blinding surge that feels like his body's being turned inside out starting at the head of his cock. He's only dimly aware of slumping forward and Hannibal gathering him up in his arms, laying him out on the bed beside him. He hears Hannibal licking the semen off his fingers, and tastes it on his lips when they kiss.

"Was that the ride you had in mind?" Hannibal asks.

Will can only nod, delirious.

 

 

**Après nuit**

 

Will wakes in the morning to a chilly room.

"You forgot to put a fire on," he says.

Nobody answers, because Hannibal is nowhere to be seen. He's probably making breakfast, Will thinks. He'll know Will needs to replenish himself after their... _vigor_... of the night before.

Pulling on his robe and slippers, he shuffles into the living room. Cephi is in her bed, fast asleep. She barely twitches an ear in his direction, even though she's usually fussing for a walk the instant he's awake.

"Hannibal?"

He gets no reply.

In the kitchen, there's a bowl and a box of store-bought cereal. A note in Hannibal's perfect penmanship is tented over the bowl.

 

_Dear,_

_Our girl has been for her walk and I have fed her. She is content. I shall return as soon as the jazz breakfast is over. Sorry no coffee, but we were out. Perhaps market together later and then another "ride"?_

_\--- H_

 

Will frowns at the note. What the fuck is a jazz breakfast? What the fuck is with Hannibal leaving him boxed cereal with---he looks at the picture on the front---with _raisins_ , for crying out loud?

He digs around in the pantry until he finds black tea and makes himself a mug. It's not anything close to a substitute for his coffee habit, but when a body wants caffeine it'll take what it can get.

He's still in his robe when Hannibal returns. Cephi chews on her stuffed bear toy in his lap, but hops down to run over to Hannibal.

"What the fuck is a jazz breakfast?" Will asks.

Hannibal blinks at him as he reaches down to pet Cephi. "I told you last night," he says. "You said you didn't want to come."

Will fumbles around in his memory. Without coffee, it's fuzzier than usual. He remembers the sex---the utterly mind-blowing sex---but _jazz breakfast?_

"I told you that Robbie had invited us to the jazz club for breakfast," Hannibal reminds him. "There was an experimental jazz combo that he said was the only one to ever successfully combine both a zither _and_ a theremin into its performance. In his opinion."

Will cringes. "Good God, that sounds like a nightmare on every level. No wonder I didn't want to go. I suppose Robbie was glad to have you to himself."

"You can't possibly be jealous," Hannibal says. "He's merely a friend."

"Of course I'm not jealous," Will says, mostly successful in keeping the testy note out of his voice. "You waited three years in prison for me, not for him."

Hannibal crosses the room toward him and kisses the top of his head. "He isn't my type anyway. A nice young man, but a touch pretentious."

Will bursts out laughing. "You just got back from an experimental jazz breakfast, babe. You don't have room to be calling anybody else pretentious."

He watches Hannibal cross the room back toward the door again and feels silly for begrudging Hannibal a new friend, and for the stings of jealousy at Robbie's expense. Will can hardly call himself an expert on friendship. Obviously, the guy has no designs on Hannibal whatsoever.

Hannibal removes a bundle of papers from the pocket of his overcoat before hanging it up on the rack by the door.

"I don't suppose there's any coffee in there," Will says.

"It's Robbie's novel manuscript," Hannibal says, setting it down on the entryway table. "It's about a young man who falls in love with a much older man. He's asked for my opinion on it."

"Sounds interesting," Will says, and begins to plan Robbie's death.

 

 

**La Mort**

 

Will is almost done preparing dinner when he hears Hannibal returning home. Cephi jumps down from her seat at the kitchen table to go greet him.

"You're home early," Will calls out. "How was the play?"

Hannibal walks into the kitchen, cradling a wriggling Cephi his arms. He peppers he brow with kisses before setting her down. "I never made it there," he says. "Robbie didn't show up, so I went to the bookstore. He wasn't there, and he didn't answer his phone when I called."

"That's odd," Will says, dropping strips of thinly sliced heart into hot butter. "From what you said, it sounded like he was really looking forward to it."

"I went to his cot," Hannibal says, holding up his phone, "and found this."

Will looks away from his cooking just long enough to glance at the screen. "Is that a drop of blood on his pillow?"

Hannibal moves behind him and strokes the small o his back. "I was hoping you could use your profiling skills to solve the mystery for me."

"I'm rusty," Will says.

"I have a feeling it will come back to you," Hannibal says, "as your particular talents always seem to do."

Will sighs. He moves the skillet to the back of the stove so the meat doesn't overcook.

"I'll give it a shot," he says.

He closes his eyes, places himself in the book shop where he stands over the cot bearing its single droplet of blood, and lets the scene unwind backwards from there.

* * *

I ask Robbie Goodnight to see me. "There's something you have to know about Jonas," I tell him. "He's not my business partner. Except that he is, in a way, because he's everything to me, and I am to him."

We arrange to meet in a deserted part of the Tuileries, in the precise place he's set a scene where his young character meets with his older lover. When Robbie sees me, he's quick to explain that the novel isn't about Jonas at all. "I'm not trying to steal your... _whatever_. I mean, he's incredible, but it was obvious after we met the second time that you two are together. I wasn't going to make a move on him."

I don't know that I believe him. I don't know that I care.

"The second thing you need to know is that his name isn't Jonas," I tell him. I advance on him. "That's just what he's calling himself right now, because his real name rhymes with what he is."

Robbie swallows, frightened like a rabbit. "What is he?"

"A cannibal," I tell him. "Like me."

I make it quick. My goal isn't to make him suffer. It's just something that needs to be done. I take his heart for later, then set about turning the rest of his body into an intricately crafted book. The layers of skin are like pages. That's the pun at the end of the story, you see. Robbie was an open book and I read him so easily, and I wanted someone else to read him. My husband.

Then I take everything apart, because if I leave him on display, our trip back home will be considerably more difficult. Plus, I was rather hoping we could go to Florence after Paris. But I can't leave my novel completely unread, so I stop at the bookstore on the way home and leave a drop of blood on Robbie's pillow, where I know my husband will discover it just in time for dinner.

* * *

" _This is my design_."

Will opens his eyes to see Hannibal gazing back at him, lips parted, his expression as dark and intense as any Will has ever seen.

Hannibal takes a long, slow breath before finally speaking. "I'm only sorry I didn't get to see it for myself. It must have been... magnificent."

Will takes his phone out of his pocket and shows Hannibal the one and only picture he took of his tableau. "Commit it to memory. I'm deleting it before dinner is served."

Hannibal glances toward the stove. "Is that...?"

Will doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. He slips his arms around Hannibal's neck and steps into him so that they're body to body and cheek to cheek. "There was a time when you killed or alienated everyone from my life so you could have me to yourself. You should know that I'll do the same if I feel it necessary."

"If the world is a library full of books," Hannibal says, "I am to read only yours?"

"I'll burn it all down like Alexandria," Will tells him. "We're alone without each other. Remember?"

Hannibal pulls back just enough to lock eyes with him. Will has never seen him look so fiercely proud. "I could live a hundred lifetimes and find something new in the story of you, every time."

Will takes Hannibal's face in his hands and places a tender kiss on his lips. "Let's eat."

 

 

**Noël**

 

They buy a small tree for the living room and string up a popcorn garland, which Cephi promptly tries to eat before they decide to trade it in for relatively safer silver beads. The dog has no interest in eating those, thankfully. Their downstairs neighbor gifts Cephi a red and black sweater for the holiday, which she sashays around in with obvious pride, and refuses to let anyone take off.

Hannibal cooks for four days straight leading up to Christmas, even though it's just the two of them and Cephi. The centerpiece is a bûche de noël, which he constructs out of chocolate sponge cake, buttercream and elaborate mushrooms sculpted of marzipan and meringue. He makes pies and potatoes, and roasts a beef Wellington because Will mentions one day that it's the fanciest thing he can remember eating when he was a kid and allowed to visit a rich but quite distant relative.

They decide not to give one another gifts, although they both spoil Cephi with toys and Hannibal purchases a cashmere blanket for her.

"I have to confess," Will says after the Christmas meal is over and the dog is fast asleep. "I do have a gift for you, after all."

"I have everything I could ever want," Hannibal says.

Will shrugs. "Well, if you don't want me to make love to you on that ridiculous rug---"

Hannibal grabs his hand and drags him into the study before he can even finish the sentence.

He takes his time getting Hannibal ready, but it's not so much torture as languor. There's no rush. There's only the patience of two people who know they're getting to the same place together in the end and don't care how long it takes.

He thrusts into Hannibal at an equally patient pace, having spread him out on his back in front of the crackling fire. Hannibal laces their fingers together, and moves with him, without urgency.

"Did you mean it about going to Florence after this?" Hannibal asks.

"We've been wanting to go for a while," Will reminds him. "What's the weather like?"

"Warmer than here," Hannibal says, slowly arching up to meet his movements. "A little warmer, at any rate."

"Then we'll leave tomorrow," Will tells him, and kisses his brow. "Or whenever you want."

When they're done, and well and truly spent, neither of them is in any big rush to clean up. They're content to lie tangled in one another's arms, warm and drowsy while the snow grows deeper outside, bothering neither of them at all.

 

 

-end-

p

**Author's Note:**

> * The Greek surrealist novelist Nikos Calas doesn't exist. I made him up using parts of other Greek Surrealist novelists' names. Demodokos _is_ from _The Odyssey_ but to my knowledge, nobody has ever written about him actually being a hallucinating bat.
> 
> * The bookstore where Robbie works is modeled after Shakespeare & Company, a real store in Paris where "Tumbleweed" Americans live for short periods in exchange for working there. I didn't mention it by name because I also wanted it to be slightly anonymous during the story. The painted saying above the door exists in reality.
> 
> * I only speak a little French and I've never been to France. I'm sure I got things wrong. Feel free to correct me if it's anything I can easily fix like a misspelling. If it's a logic problem like "The Tuileries would never have been that empty!" then I defer to Bryan Fuller, who's had the characters kill in very public places and in outlandish ways and we're gonna hand-wave my weird logic, too.
> 
> * As far as I know, there's no real jazz combo that uses both a zither and a theremin successfully.
> 
> * There was supposed to be a scene where Hannibal and Robbie attend a "reading" of The Iliad performed entirely by Parisian mimes, but I couldn't quite fit it in.
> 
> * I love your comments, I appreciate them so much. I apologize in advance because I'm terrible at replying, but know that I read them all and they inspire me to keep writing.


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